


Carried Away

by unbecomings



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 17:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21675367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbecomings/pseuds/unbecomings
Summary: Lindsey is so sick. And so fucked.
Relationships: Lindsey Horan/Emily Sonnett
Comments: 16
Kudos: 125





	Carried Away

Lindsey is _so_ sick. And so fucked.

She groans when she swings her leg over the edge of the bed. Her head throbs and when she swallows it feels like she’s swallowing shards of glass. She has practice in an hour and a half and when she takes a deep breath everything hurts.

Then she realizes why she woke up--Emily’s knocking on her door.

“Linds,” Emily says, “you up?”

“Yeah,” Lindsey croaks.

“You okay?” Emily asks, because it must be obvious just from one word that Lindsey is on the brink of death.

“Um,” Lindsey says, and then, resting her elbows on her knees, she drops her head into her hands.

“Can I come in?” Emily asks, and when Lindsey doesn’t answer she cracks the door. 

“I think I’m dying,” Lindsey says, and Emily steps fully inside, closing the door behind her even though they’re the only two in the apartment. Emily comes to her side and sits too close, close enough that Lindsey feels extra woozy. 

“Oh jeez babe,” Emily says, “you look, um...feverish.”

“I’m gonna shower,” Lindsey decides, “before practice, see if that helps.”

Emily places her hand on Lindsey’s leg and Lindsey swallows. It’s not like her reactions to Emily have been normal over the past few months, but somehow being sick magnified everything, makes everything hurt. If she can’t crawl into Emily’s arms and fall back asleep with Emily’s hand running through her hair then she doesn’t want Emily to touch her _at all_. And if Emily knew Lindsey was even thinking about her like that she’d never touch Lindsey again. 

“You cannot go to practice like this,” Emily says, “you will die. I’ll just tell Mark you’re sick.”

“I’m not that sick,” Lindsey says, brushing Emily’s hand away. She lurches to her feet and sways, fighting off the pressure in her temples. Emily shoots to her feet and reaches out for Lindsey’s elbows to steady her, guiding her back to sit on the bed again. 

“Okay, no,” Emily says, “you stay here, I’ll take care of it, okay? Just go back to sleep.”

Lindsey is too exhausted to argue. She crawls back in bed and tries to ignore how badly she wishes Emily had said ‘I’ll take care of you’ instead. 

-

She dozes off and when she wakes up it’s 10:30, thirty minutes into practice. She rolls over, reaching blindly for her phone, where we’ll-wishes from the coaches and some teammates are waiting. 

Plus a glass of water and a note. 

_Drink this before I get back if you want to live. Okay, it’s not that serious, but seriously please drink it. Text me if you need me to grab anything on the way home. And STAY IN BED. Plz._

‘Stay in bed’ is underlined. Lindsey presses her hot face into the cool side of her pillow and imagines Emily sneaking in to put the water there, probably seeing her mouth-breathing, drooling all over the place. Very attractive. 

She manages to blow her nose and fire off a text asking for DayQuil before she passes back out. 

-

The next time she wakes up it’s noon and she’s starving. Her back hurts from laying in bed so long and her throat hurts from sleeping with her mouth open but she can’t breathe through her nose because it’s just a fountain of snot. When she sits up to blow her nose, her head throbs so violently that she curses under her breath.

There’s a new glass of water next to her bed. At least, she thinks it’s new. She’s pretty sure she drank it at some point.

When she wanders into the living room with a box of tissues under her arm, wearing a hoodie, sweatpants, and two pairs of socks, Emily looks up from the couch and the expression on her face sends a wave of fondness through Lindsey that she wasn’t expecting to feel. Emily’s eyes are wide and her brows are drawn together in serious concern, like Lindsey is actually dying instead of just a snotty mess.

“Hey,” Emily says, “how are you feeling?”

Lindsey opens her mouth to answer, but the second she tries to it ends in a coughing fit. She leans against the couch, bracing with one hand, and when she can breathe again Emily’s on her feet, rummaging in the kitchen.

“I got some stuff,” Emily says, “I went to CVS. Um, I got DayQuil and NyQuil and some cough drops, I think you can still have cough drops with that other stuff. And some chocolate. I think we have soup, do you want soup?”

Lindsey blinks and blushes and shuffles her feet. She feels lucky that she’s flushed enough from being sick that Emily can’t tell that she’s blushing.

“I can make it,” she mumbles.

“No,” Emily says, “go sit on the couch, I got it.”

“You don’t have to do all this,” Lindsey says.

“I’m just making soup,” Emily says, getting to her feet and moving past Lindsey into the kitchen, “it’s no big deal, not like I’m making it from scratch.”

It’s just like Emily to downplay all this. She does the same thing when she does something good on the field and gets called out for it--she just pretends it’s all business as usual, shies away from any praise like she’s allergic to it. Lindsey wants to say more but Emily’s already digging around in the pantry and there’s a blanket on the arm of the couch that Lindsey really, really wants to be curled up under.

She folds herself into the corner of the couch, wrapping herself up in the blanket like a burrito, and zones out watching whatever soccer highlights Emily left on the TV. When Emily reappears with a bowl of soup, Lindsey takes it and mumbles thanks that Emily shrugs off, like always. The second she finishes the soup she sucks down some DayQuil and goes back to the couch, where Emily is reading. She’s in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt with her hair in a bun and it takes every single iota of Lindsey’s self control not to push herself up under Emily’s arm and fall asleep in her lap. The thing is, Emily would let her, too--because Emily doesn’t know that Lindsey feels anything in particular about it.

Lindsey curls back up in her corner of the couch. Emily puts her book down on the table and reaches over for Lindsey’s feet. She pulls at them until Lindsey stretches her legs out, resting her feet in Emily’s lap, every muscle in her body relaxing at once. They make brief eye contact and Emily smiles gently at her, and then Lindsey falls asleep again, propping her head up on the other arm of the couch.

-

When Lindsey wakes up again, her neck is stiff from the angle of the couch arm. She’s not sure how long it’s been. Probably not too long, because Emily’s still there, without her book now, just watching TV. Hazily, Lindsey shuffles around, switching sides so that she can place her head in Emily’s lap instead. She’s not entirely sure she’s awake, but Emily is warm and she’s cold, and Emily’s legs are softer than the arm of the couch, and Lindsey feels safe here.

“Hey,” Emily says, smiling down at Lindsey. 

“Thanks,” Lindsey says, “for taking care of me.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Emily says, reaching down to place the back of her hand on Lindsey’s forehead, checking her temperature, “just don’t get me sick, okay?”

Lindsey can tell from the fondness in Emily’s voice that she’s joking. She closes her eyes and Emily turns her hand over, brushing her fingers along Lindsey’s hairline even though Lindsey’s sure her hair is a greasy mess.

“Love you,” Lindsey mumbles, and passes out for the last time that day.

-

The last time Lindsey wakes up, she feels better. She can sort of breathe through one side of her nose and her throat hurts less, and when she stands up to find a cough drop she doesn’t feel like dying. Emily’s not there, though, and Lindsey tries not to think too hard about how disappointed she feels when she finally gets into the shower.

The second the water hits her she remembers telling Emily she loved her and understands why Emily’s gone.

“Jesus Christ,” she mumbles, pressing her forehead against the glass.

When she gets out she takes her time getting dressed, dreading having to explain herself, miserably embarrassed at herself. She knows better than to pretend she didn’t say anything,though. If Emily’s gone she’s just going to be awkward until Lindsey fesses up, and Lindsey can handle rejectio nif it means things can go back to normal eventually. In theory.

When she leaves the bathroom Emily’s standing in the kitchen with Thai takeout. Lindsey wonders if she’s imagining the way Emily’s smile seems shy this time, if it’s just her mind playing tricks on her, or wishful thinking.

“Got your Pad See Ew,” Emily says, “I didn’t want to wake you up so--”

“Thank you,” Lindsey says.

Emily blushes and ducks her head and Lindsey realizes that she _definitely_ isn’t making it up. Things are different...but not bad different.

“Hey,” she says, settling at the table across from Emily, reaching out to poke Emily’s hand with her plastic fork until Emily looks up at her, “so I told you I loved you earlier.”

Emily turns bright red again. The fact that Lindsey is even capable of making that happen makes her heart rate speed up, and she can’t control the smile on her face.

“I figured you were talking to the DayQuil,” Emily jokes, but her voice is wheezy and soft and Lindsey wants to kiss her.

“No you didn’t,” she says.

Emily bites her lips, but Lindsey can see she’s holding back a smile.

“I guess not,” Emily says.

“When it won’t give you the plague,” Lindsey says, “can I kiss you?”

“You can give me the plague,” Emily says, “I love the plague.”

-

Later, when Lindsey settles on the couch and rests her head on Emily’s lap, she reaches up for the back of Emily’s neck and tugs her down into a kiss.


End file.
